'Tis the night before Christmas...
Am back in Singapore for a holiday - well technically it's not a holiday since I'm on work experience (NO I HAVEN'T GRADUATED YET), but still it's nice to bury my weary li'l head in Singapore's humid, mosquito-infested bosom and spend time with the family.
It just struck me how X'mas has changed for me over the years. It used to be all about gifts and toys and tantrums around the Christmas tree. Then the foolish years which were my adolescence came aknockin', and we got busy spiking the eggnog and putting on our best 'I am angsty and too cool for this family gathering and am putting on a stoic poker face the rest of the goddamn night' front.
And now that I've aged..oh how I've aged *reminisce*. In all honesty, gifts aren't quite a big deal to me now. I mean, I DO still like 'em (so don't get any funny ideas about stinging on me), but I'm slowly starting to build on my deep & meaningfuls - which means I'm finally appreciating those really itchy sweaters Grandma got me, and all the photo frames I received..ahh those empty wooden vessels (no wait actually I still viciously hate them, and to whom it may concern: I know you got them from Ikea). And I've just burst my deep & meaningful bubble..OKAY I guess what I'm trying to say, and I have to assault you with a cliche - but really 'It's the thought that counts.' In other words, I actually READ the card now.
Of course there are superficial perks like knockin' a couple of days off work. It's making me so happy I can actually muster up semi-fond thoughts of the head vet - who on a good day, can be described as 'asswipe-ish' but I'm reluctant to insult toilet paper that way. If we had enough money, the clinic staff and I would buy him a vasectomy just to ensure he can't spawn - ahh, a special X'mas gift from us to the-rest-of-society.
Damn I broke my peaceful X'mas frame of thought again - must be like peaceful Hindu cow, must be like peaceful Hindu cow, must be like...
So anyhow, Merry Christmas to one and all - and I'd sing 'O Holy Night' but you know I'm tone-deaf. :)
So it's been a couple of months into the uni year, and some.. okay most, things haven't changed:
- I still can't cook.
- I still don't clean the house. Dust bunnies are so fuckin' adorable.
- I'm still procrastinating.
- I'm still on my caffeine drip.
BUT, but I'm living with two cats now. My housemate's. Very interesting (the cats, not my housemate).
Destiny is a tabby who is desexed, but still has her libido very intact. Colours is the fat white one with orange patches, who likes food a lot, and has NO sex drive whatsoever. Meal times are fun - Destiny comes onto Colours, purring with her tail up, back arched slightly, full-on feline lust. Colours just stares and eats his kibble, then turns and eats her kibble as well.
As I said, interesting-ness. Photos of the cats to come.
(As a side note, if your female cat's on heat and her overtly sexual behaviour is making you uncomfy, take a Q-tip and simulate sexual intercourse on the frisky feline - don't act coy with me, you know what to do. She'll be back to her normal, unsexed up self in no time.)
'lHappy Wednesday, m'loves.
Bye for a little bit, will be back... eventually. Read: when I need an excuse to procrastinate.
How did you meet your current, or most recent, significant other?
In a gelati shop.
Also as much as we hate, hate, hate to admit it, there's a 'classic' romantic setting (which also often tends to be a big fat cliche) in every woman's head, which she secretly wants to find herself in - you know getting kissed in the rain, beaches, mountain tops..that sort of shit.
...I like carousels, I think they're pretty.
There I've said it. Now BUY ME A FREAKIN' CAROUSEL.
This is clearly a sign that my parents and I need to spend more quality time together.
Today after work, my Mom picked me up and we met Mom's friend, Mrs L, for coffee & cake.
Mrs L: ''Oh can I take a look at that, dear?''
I obliged, lifting my wrist so she could get a closer look.
Mom: ''A look at what? ...GOOD GOD WHEN DID YOU GET ANOTHER ONE? YOU DIDN'T TELL US?''
Me: ''YOU DIDN'T NOTICE TILL NOW?!'' *equally horrified*
You have got to be kidding me. It took my Mom a year (and only after someone brought it to her attention) to notice I've ink on my arm. It's not a big tattoo, but noticeable. Plus it's been sitting there for A YEAR. And they see me all the time at home. Tomorrow I'm going to sprout a fifth limb and see if they notice the difference.
So I managed a few days of holiday bumming around, then I got insanely bored. My friends are all done with semester vacations and back in uni, and my dog doesn't want to hang around with me anymore. So I'm back at work for a day or two to keep myself busy - I really don't see how people can sit around at home and do nothing for weeks, months.. hell even years (that used to be me tho', when I was 14 and lazy lazier). Work's more fun when you know you don't actually HAVE to be there.
Currently it's the 'morning lull' before things start to get a bit more hectic. Should head off and look busy-ish, bye
Realisation of my impending doom sunk in today.
I'm flying back to Melbourne next week, and I think I might starve to death in my new apartment. 2007 heralds a year of living off-campus.
No dorm. No meal plan. No basic cooking skills to speak of (yet).
Was at lunch with friends today, and I had this amazing Dory fillet with yuzu sauce atop amazing mashed potato, and a blended soy milk/Azuki bean drink (it tastes better than it sounds). Interesting how all these Japanese influences are sneaking into dishes - yuzu, Azuki...
Anyhow at lunch, you could see the stark contrast between cooking types (friends Charlene & Suyin) and undomesticated 'raw-type' people (urm, me).
The Nigella Lawsons of the world have a similar thought process at meals:
1) Marvel on the deliciousness of the dish. For optimal effect, pepper words/phrases like 'scrumptious!' 'absolutely delightful' and 'fresh & succulent' amidst praise. If not eloquent, then just close eyes and go, 'Mmmmmm...' as if simulating sexual intercourse (ala Nigella).
2) Proceed to analyse and break dish down into constituent ingredients - 'a touch of vinegar, a dash of white wine, generous amounts of garlic...'
3) Contemplate reproducing exact dish at home.
Me: 'Hey guys, this is good shit!'
--------------------------------------------------
I HATE COOKING. It's just too much trouble. I feel that by the time you've chopped and diced all your ingredients into endearing li'l cubes, you might as well go downstairs and grab some take-out from your local pizza joint...or just have 2-minute noodles. It's called '2-minute noodles' for a reason - gratification in 2 minutes, putting stuff in just takes too much time.
I'm an impatient person, and the idea of cooking is almost as innane as making my bed in the morning - WHAT'S THE POINT, YOU'RE JUST GONNA MESS IT UP AT THE END OF THE DAY ANYWAY. Ooh like the Queen of England is going to take a tour of your pig-sty after morning tea.
I think this anti-cooking thing is genetic, 'cos my Mom doesn't really cook either.
Aside: My brother & I have realised that if you try hard enough, you can blame ALMOST ANYTHING on genetics. So far I've managed to blame my Mom for my poor driving, non-existent sense of direction, oh yeah anti-cooking stance + strange behaviour when over-caffeinated; and both Shawn and I credit my Dad for 'the lazy gene'. See? Which goes to show.. before you say, 'To hell with protection.' Are kids worth the risk?
Which brings me to another conversation my brother & I had the other day:
Shawn: Hey do you actually intend to have kids?
Me: I dunno. I was thinking of just getting a golden retriever pup or something.
Shawn: Waitaminute.. If you're not having kids, and I'm not intending to have any - Who's having the grandchildren?
(awkward pause)
Me: Maybe either one of us can adopt a child, give the parents a grandkid to cuddle and take care of - you know, whatever grandparents like to do, then we flee the hell to Jamaica kid-free.
(dry laughter)
So... My slavery stint is over! Now it's time to enjoy the remainder of my summer break, and deal with life's little stresses e.g. remembering to write '07' instead of '06' on my assignment sheets. With the '05' to '06' transition, it wasn't quite as tough, 'cos you could cunningly manoeuvre '5' to '6' by cleverly smudging ink. '6' to '7', now that's tricky.
I celebrated my ex-work experience kid status by spending quality time with friends over a good dinner.
Mmm. Seafood pasta. A medley of succulent prawns, juicy mussels and squid tossed with spaghetti in a delightful white wine/tomato sauce. I love seafood. I also lack self-control. I can't believe I finished the entire dish. Now don't worry, I'm not about to whinge about calories and start complaining about how my knuckles are getting chubby and I can't fit into my fingerless gloves no more. (Aside: fingerless gloves - bloody stupid idea, by the way. Karl Lagerfeld is an idiot.)
No don't fret, dear friends. I love my food and have no intention of going all Nicole Richie-ish on you, it's just that...
... I'm allergic to shellfish.
I can get away with a shrimp or two. And I INTENDED to share the dish (we ordered heaps of other stuff for a free-for-all feeding frenzy), but I got violent when a friend tried to pry my fork from my grubby meathooks ('Dawn, no! Have my carbonara. You'll itch if you finish that.. NO SHIT, SOMEBODY STOP HER!'), and the table could only watch haplessly as I inhaled the entire plate.
So now I'm itchy.
But the worst allergy attack I've had was back when I was 12 or 13, and we had a school camp. They served up some crab dish, which was amazing. After gorging on crab, I had a slight itch around my face/neck and my lips were a little swollen. It was a flattering look though, very 'Angelina Jolie' - though I believe back in the day, Jolie was still struggling to break into mainstream cum UN (think 'Hackers'), so it was more 'Hey you're totally channelling Liv Tyler! 'Stealing Beauty', no?' But an hour later, it was more 'Jar Jar Binks' than 'Liv Tyler'. I was sobbing in a locked cubicle as campmates desperately passed me Kleenex and boxes of Zyrtec under the toilet door. <3 Zyrtec.
Anyway, itch aside, dinner with close friends made me realise how much I've missed them. It's becoming increasingly hard to spend quality time with the girls, especially my best friend Suyin - she studies in New Haven, so we only get to bug each other about twice a year during term breaks.
Now this is going to make me sound like an anti-social cat-lady, but
I don't like most people I meet.
Okay wait, that was a bit harsh. Let me redeem myself. What I'm trying to get across is that I don't care for a large group of acquaintances. I adore having a small close-knit group of friends. I don't open up to new people that readily unless they have an endearing sort of quirk which I feel I can connect to. I'm not much of a social butterfly and I hate 'mingling' (oh my god, and forced polite laughter is the most uncomfortable thing ever. I always feel like my diaphragm is going to rupture and I'll collapse and die at that cocktail party amidst the air-kissing). I also dislike being around people 24-7. I need a lot of 'alone time' to recharge, otherwise I get irritable.
Put it this way, if a social butterfly is the chihuahua that wants to be picked up every 2 seconds, and goes around humping everyone's ankles just to get attention.. then I'm more the Saint Bernard that mopes around the house and eats food. I'll come up to the family for an occasional belly-rub, but like time alone on the patio to doze.
Milan Kundera's thoughts on friendship in 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' echoes my sentiments almost exactly. He writes about how when you meet a friend early in life, the two you are still just beginning to write melodies and both melodies can merge and be built upon harmoniously. But when you meet people later in life, your melody would already be fairly well-established so it's a little harder to incorporate their melodies into your own. This actually sounds a lot more intelligent in the book. It only sounds like a big stupid cliche now because I'm writing this from what I vaguely remember (and I'm not Milan Kundera). Go read.
Anyhow I'm off now, have a fantastic start to the year y'all :)
In truth, they're the only reason why I bother working hard.
Daisy the basset hound - also a tripping hazard. She made for a handy door-stop when sedated.
Cat on top right is Jackie, and an absolute darling. I cuddle her on an hourly basis.
The second feline is Sam. He bites, but only because he's ill.
Heaps of other adorable critters, but my camera died on me. And apparently I have to brush up on my customer service skills. I can't help being occasionally snarky - some pet-owners are absolute fuckwits. They justify why animals sometimes eat their young in the wild. One thing I cannot tolerate is when people aren't responsible enough to train/socialise their pets from a young age. If you can't control your dog, don't expect the clinic staff to do so - we'll actually like to keep our fingers so we can help other animals.
And I get to do my first castration next week - woot.
Recent Comments
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Kevin Wolf said:
Wow, look who's alive! A fine holiday to you, ma'am. read more
on Haaaaark the herald aaaaangels siiiing -
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merry belated xmas and a happy new year!!!! hope your doing well down there in funky town melbourne! xox read more
on Haaaaark the herald aaaaangels siiiing